“Of course,” Lucio said.
Larry was not done. “That’s my dog you’re talking about, Fabio! My wife! My boys! My house!” His face became flushed. “Just who the hell do you think you are? You’ll never fit into Larry Garrison’s shoes!”
Joshua went to his father’s other side. Together, the teenagers dragged him down the hall to the door. Larry, however, wanted one last word, and managed to swivel free again. He straightened an arm and glared down the barrel of the empty can pointed directly at Lucio. “I’ve never trusted Italians,” he said.
“I have always felt fortunate to be a Spaniard,” Lucio said.
“Same thing,” Larry said.
At that instant, little HeatherLynn decided to join the party. She toddled up to Larry, stretching out her front paws while raising her rump, then let go with a big, wide yawn.
“See?” Larry said, nodding toward the dog with pride. “She knows I’m her master.”
With that, the little doggie sniffed at Larry’s loafer, then squatted, shooting a hard and straight stream of urine directly onto the shoe’s squared leather toe. Then she ran into the sitting room and dove under the sofa.
Larry was in shock. The only sound he made was a high squeak of disbelief as he raised his foot above the puddle. The boys turned him around and led him out the door and down the drive, walking right past a shiny new black Porsche convertible in the driveway. The boys were smart not to let him get behind the wheel.
“We’ll be back in a few minutes, Mom!” Josh called out.
While they watched the boys navigate their father down the sidewalk, Lucio draped an arm over Genevieve’s shoulder.
She sighed, curling her arm around his waist. “Well, you’ve just met my former husband, Dr. Lawrence Hutchins Garrison the Third. He’s the chief of urology at University Hospital.”
Lucio nodded. “In those shoes, he most certainly is.”
She laughed. “You know, Larry’s not a horrible guy … not all the time, anyway. He was in rare form tonight, and I’m sorry you had to see him like that.”
Lucio leaned into Genevieve and hugged her tight to his side. “I have seen most of life’s grand spectacle, bonita. I can handle one drunk and disorderly ex-husband.”
She looked him square in the eye. “Are you sure about that?”
“I am sure.”
“What about two wild fifteen-year-old boys?” Genevieve asked.
“They are good kids. I look forward to getting to know them.”
“And a badly behaved bichon frise?”
“She has extremely good aim.”
“And me? A forty-year-old, jobless, menopausal crone?”
Lucio would not laugh at her, no matter how preposterous she sounded. Ridicule was the last thing she needed. So he turned and gathered Genevieve into his arms, pressed her head to his shoulder, and held her tight against him.
“Be still, Genevieve,” he whispered to her. “Lean against me and be still a moment.”
Lucio inhaled the sweet fragrance of her hair, smiling to himself. Who, really, had he been advising with those words? Genevieve, or himself? Lucio felt her heart beat against him and her breath against his neck. Could it be that after all the years of adventure—all the exotic locations he’d seen and all the people he’d encountered—that he’d finally found a place where he wanted to be still? All he knew was there had never been a woman who touched his heart the way Genevieve had, or presented a challenge that called to him so clearly.
He could feel the upheaval as it swept through him. The elements of his universe were being jumbled, rearranged. Right at that moment.
Possibly forever.
Of course there would be his work. There would always be his work. He could not imagine a world without the light and the lens. There was his reputation to save, the Erskine Prize to hold in his hands, and money to make. And soon, he would track down whoever had messed with him and get the justice he deserved.
But all those things had just been bumped down in importance, replaced by this beautiful woman with the damaged spirit and two boys on the verge of manhood.
Genevieve’s ex-husband had it so very wrong. Jason and Joshua did need a father figure in their lives—one who wasn’t a self-centered buffoon. Genevieve most definitely needed the touch of a man who adored her, the encouragement of a man who believed in her. Perhaps then she’d be able to see her own strength and beauty.
But the last thing Lucio intended to do was step into Larry’s pissed-upon shoes.
He would make his own way.
CHAPTER 8
About a half hour later, Lucio finished the last of his espresso. The sun had set, leaving the backyard in shadows. Ginger knew the boys would be busting through the front door at any minute and she was fidgety. She could barely look at Lucio sitting there, across from her at the outdoor patio table, his dark eyes penetrating her soul, his long and muscular body stretched out in one of her wrought-iron chairs.
“I really wish you didn’t have to go,” she told him, her voice sounding embarrassingly breathless.
“I don’t want to go, but I think it’s best if I don’t force my presence on your sons. I don’t want them to feel threatened in any way.”
She sighed, knowing she should be grateful that Lucio was concerned about her sons’ well-being. He was a sweet man. So kind. So understanding. So why did she want to scream?
Because if she didn’t get his naked sex-panther body in her bed in the next five minutes she’d die.
No! Keep it together, Ginger. She ran a hand across her forehead in angst. How horrible would it be for her sons to come home and hear her squealing and panting in pleasure, behind her locked bedroom door? Because that’s what she’d be doing—no question about it. With Lucio Montevez, there would be plenty of squealing and panting involved.
She began to perspire. Another hot flash, no doubt.
“We have plenty of time, bonita. ” Lucio brushed his fingertip down her forearm. “We will take our time with each other, savor each other. The next time your sons are staying with their father, we will spend the entire day together—the entire weekend. We will start this right.”
Naked. Hot and thoroughly naked and pushing up against her, nudging hard into her body.
Ginger let out a desperate little squeak.
“I am impatient, too,” Lucio said, cradling her hand. “But how many times have we gotten started only to have to stop? The Host! If that happens one more time I think I will explode!”
Ginger swallowed. “Tell me about it. I’m afraid if that happens again something will break and it will never work right again.”
Lucio laughed. The sound of his laughter was one of the most joyous things Ginger had ever heard. She wanted to wrap herself up in his laugh and roll around in it. Naked.
Stop!
She groaned in exasperation as she got up from the patio table. “Maybe you should just go.” She gathered the demitasse cups and saucers and they rattled around in her unsteady grip. “This is torture. I’m coming unglued.”
Ginger headed into the house, Lucio following. He held open the French doors for her, and she could feel the energy zapping from his body into hers, the way it did whenever he was close. And he was very close at that moment. Inches from her back. This was crazy, she thought. She walked faster. She reached the kitchen counter. He was still right behind her.
She set the dishes in the sink. He was on her. Up against her. She felt his hands cup her hips, then slide across her belly, his palms and fingers cradling her. She felt him, hard and long and pressing up against her bottom.
“I will say good night, then.” He whispered into her ear. “I cannot have you tonight, but I want you to think of me as you fall asleep. I want you to dream of me. Can you do that, Genevieve?”
“Sure,” she squeaked. “I’ll give it a try.”
He chuckled into her ear, and the movement of his body caused his erection to jump around on her butt. She could do nothing but l
ean her head back onto his shoulder in surrender. Her knees were wobbly again. Swooning was inevitable. The only thing that kept her upright was the pressure of his hands against her lower belly, and the support of his body behind her.
“I want you to dream of me being all over you, pelirroja. I’m going to gather you up, eat you, slurp you, kiss you, nibble on you, get my fingers and tongue up inside you.”
She mewled.
“Then I’m going to take you, Genevieve.”
Her knees began to give out. His hands caught her, grabbing hold of her breasts, and she slid lower.
“Ohmigod,” she breathed.
The phone rang.
Lucio helped her regain her footing. Ginger somehow managed to stumble to the cordless phone on the kitchen table. Her eyes flashed to Lucio as she picked it up and answered.
“Hello?”
“Mom, it’s Jason.”
“Hey, honey.” She turned away from Lucio’s dark stare. She couldn’t take its intensity—both her breath and heartbeat were erratic. “Is everything okay with your dad?”
“He’s passed out in bed.”
“My God, is he breathing?”
“Snoring.”
“Oh. That’s good.”
“So we were wondering, do you think we could stay over here tonight with him?”
Ginger spun around, catching Lucio staring at her ass. She didn’t mind. Not one bit.
“Mom?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Is that okay? I know it’s supposed to be your night, but Josh and I figured Dad should have someone with him. He’s blubbering about some chick who dumped him.”
Ginger’s eyes went wide in comprehension. The boys weren’t coming back tonight! She and Lucio were free to’
“Mom?”
Lucio swept his eyes up the front of her body, taking his time, then locked his gaze with hers. He smiled at her, sliding one hand into a front jeans pocket.
“Oh, yeah,” Ginger whispered into the phone.
“Is everything all right? You sound kind of weird.”
Lucio took a few steps toward her. She leaned back against the stove.
“Everything’s fine,” she said. “Great.”
“Okay, so we’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Sure. See you tomorrow.”
Lucio immediately got it—the rules had just changed. His smile disappeared. His gaze darkened and his eyelids lowered to half-mast. He began to advance toward her, with a purpose. He was stalking her, his body coiled and ready, her own personal sexual panther about to move in for the kill.
“The next time you see Lucio, would you ask him when I can start as his assistant?”
Ginger gulped. “Absolutely,” she managed, not sure for how many more seconds she’d be capable of speech. The pit of her stomach ached with need. She tingled between her legs. Her nipples were hard and poking at the fabric of her blouse. She’d begun to pant. She decided she might as well have been wearing a nametag that said, hello, my name is ginger and i’m in heat.
“Are you working out on the treadmill, Mom?”
“Huh?” Ginger began to slide her bottom across the front of the stove, along the edge of the countertop, then around the corner into the dining room. She took a few steps backward, holding the phone to her ear with a shaky hand.
“Are you exercising? You sound out of breath.”
“Yeah. That’s great, honey. I love you guys and I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Click. She blindly tossed the phone behind her in the vicinity of the dining room table.
“¿Dónde está tu cuarto?” Lucio asked, his voice calm and low.
Ginger blinked. “Where’s my what?”
He chuckled softly, stepping closer still. “Your bedroom. Where is it?”
“Upstairs,” she said, hoping she’d remembered the layout of her home accurately.
“Are you ready for me?”
Her breath was coming way too fast now. She figured her heartbeat might be within the normal range for a hummingbird but not a human being. She couldn’t answer.
Lucio’s grin widened. “Do you want me, Genevieve? If you do not, just say so, and I will go.”
She swallowed. “I want you bad,” she said.
Lucio nodded. He held out his hand to her.
It didn’t take long for Ginger to realize that Lucio’s approach to sex was as foreign as his accent.
After all that heavy breathing and teasing and stalking downstairs, when they’d gotten upstairs he seemed distant. He’d told her to wait a moment and keep her clothes on, then disappeared into the master bath. That had been ten minutes ago. The whole time, Ginger had been sitting on the edge of the bed, wondering what was going on.
She heard water running and cabinet doors opening and closing, which indicated Lucio was taking a shower. There wasn’t anything wrong with a man wanting to be clean before sex, she figured. She couldn’t exactly fault him for having impeccable hygiene. Maybe it was a Spanish thing, though she’d never heard that Europeans were fanatical about personal cleanliness. But it did make her feel strange, just sitting there on the edge of her bed, waiting, fully clothed, her pulse restored to normal, the moment gone.
“Lucio?”
“Just another minute, please. Do not move, mi amor.”
Ginger looked around her bedroom, feeling like a little girl who’d been put in the corner. “What are you doing in there?”
The bathroom door opened a crack. “You can come in now.”
Ginger got up from the bed and walked across the room. He held the door open for her and she immediately saw what he’d been up to.
The Jacuzzi tub was filling with warm water and bubbles. The lights were off and every candle she’d stored in the linen closet was lit, its flickering reflected on the wall of mirrors over the double sink. The blinds were drawn.
“Oh,” Ginger breathed.
Lucio chuckled, coming nearer. “What did you think I was doing in here, bonita?”
“I wasn’t sure,” Ginger said, embarrassed. Suddenly, she didn’t feel like much of a seductress. She felt silly. Unsure of herself. It had been so long since anyone had gone to this much trouble to set the scene for her that it felt like overkill.
She looked around the bathroom, worrying she was in over her head. Maybe her initial hesitation had been wise—maybe she didn’t have room in her life for a man who would, at best, end up disappointing her or, at worst, break her heart into pieces.
“Please do not do this,” Lucio said, suddenly pressing against her arm.
“Do what?”
“Do not second-guess us before we even start.” His breath was warm on the side of her neck. “There is only one thing I ask of you tonight. Can you give me this one thing?”
Ginger gasped at the feel of Lucio’s lips on her throat, warm and soft. She involuntarily raised her chin to give him complete access. “Depends on the thing,” she whispered.
Lucio’s chuckle vibrated against her neck. His hands moved into her hair. His mouth continued its exploration of her throat, collarbone, shoulder … somehow he’d already begun to remove her blouse. He was good at this, she thought. Too good …
“Do not fight it. Just enjoy it. That is all I ask.”
Ginger lowered her chin and grabbed Lucio’s face, bringing him to eye level. When their gazes locked, she was startled by the complexity she saw there—tenderness and passion. Desire and caution.
“Lucio…”
She let her eyes drop to his lips, full and parted and revealing a hint of straight, white teeth. She watched as his tongue slowly emerged, spreading a sheen of moisture to prepare for the kiss she knew was on its way.
“I am going to make love to you, Genevieve,” he whispered. His hands touched the bare skin of her upper arms. He stroked her. He gripped her. His fingers slid down her forearms and moved to her hips. The instant his mouth clamped onto hers, she heard her jeans unzip. She felt the air hit the bare skin of her bottom, her thighs, her calves. Her pa
nts and underwear were already on the floor.
He kept kissing her. Her mouth opened to him. Her muscles loosened. Her eyes closed. Lucio deftly unsnapped the front closure of her bra. It, too, was gone.
Somewhere in the recesses of her brain, Ginger acknowledged that her transformation had been seamless—in less than a minute she’d gone from silly and awkward to desperate and naked.
How does he do that? Ginger marveled at his skill. It usually took her a while to warm up. Not with Lucio.
He slid his lips off hers, continuing to kiss down her chin, her throat, to her sternum. She braced her hands in his thick hair as he got to his knees, sliding his tongue across her nipples on the way, down the center of her belly, teasing her belly button and the crest of her mound. When he nudged her thighs open, she worried she might fall. She was about to mention this possibility when Lucio gently clamped his teeth onto her outer lips, and gave a delicate pull. The only sound she was able to produce was, “Mmmmgggghhh.”
Lucio’s hands clasped at her bottom, and he pulled her closer to his face. She had a flashback to the lawn at Rick’s ranch, the night she’d said out loud that her pussy belonged to Lucio. It was true, she realized. Shockingly, she’d been dead on the money. How had she known? At that point she hadn’t even said three words to the man, and it sure wasn’t as if she went around saying she belonged to every guy she met. In fact, she’d never felt that way, certainly not with Larry. It occurred to Ginger that with Larry, she’d only allowed him to borrow parts of her body. And that was if he’d jumped through the appropriate hoops. And if she felt like it.
But not here. Not with Lucio. This was something new. It was something very simple and powerful.
She was his, and they both knew it.
After a few moments of licking and juicing her up, Lucio rose from his knees. Holding her hand, he took a step toward the tub and turned off the water. He swished his hand through the bubbles and looked up at her, smiling.
He let go of her hand and sat down on the wide ledge that surrounded the Jacuzzi, stretching out his legs. He leaned his head against the wall, still smiling, and began to study her at his leisure.
The Night She Got Lucky Page 12